


Dark Truth

by FantasyRyder



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Assassin Hannibal Lecter, Creepy Hannibal Lecter, Dark Hannibal Lecter, First Meetings, Fluff, Hannibal Lecter is a lot of things, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, I was so tired when I wrote this that I accidentally wrote Hannibal and Jack's introduction, Kinda Fluffy honestly, M/M, Meet-Cute, Original Character(s), Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Protective Hannibal Lecter, maybe smut later?, so woops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 07:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18868444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyRyder/pseuds/FantasyRyder
Summary: (I'm horrible at naming things. This fic is not as emo as the title comes off as.)Hannibal Lecter is a psychiatrist and secret serial killer working in Baltimore, Maryland. On top of that, he dabbles in assassination and hesitantly refers to himself as a hitman. What happens when his next recommended hit is Will Graham, a man who is already searching for the Chesapeake Ripper?





	1. Chapter 1

“Hannibal Lecter, Just the man I wanted to see.”

The therapist was in the process of seeing one of his patients out and fakely smiled at the familiar face standing before him, hiding just how annoyed he was about the rude individual's lack of a phone call before visiting. The man would consider Hannibal a friend, but he tolerated the other man in comparison.

“Have a good day, Jeremy. Drive safe,” he spoke supportively, patting the neurotic fellow before he hastily left.

The man still standing before him makes a move to enter but Hannibal stops him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“The entrance is down that hall, take two lefts if you will?”

He scoffs at that amusedly, tries to gauge if he's serious and turns on his heel to perform the directions given to him when he didn't catch a sign of insincerity from Dr. Lecter.

Hannibal opens the entrance for the man and walks to his chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” His tone sarcastic despite the mask he attempted to put on. The fellow didn't seem to mind as he leaned on one of the chairs and spoke conversationally, obviously not planning on staying for long, which Hannibal was grateful for.

“Is it true? What you did for Ramirez?”

Hannibal's head tilted inquiringly, his silence a good enough answer because, yes, it was true. Devin Ramirez happened to have been an acquaintance of his after university. He was a successful man that Hannibal enjoyed dinner with when he was nearby (which was not often) who decided to extend the reach of his career, dabbling in drugs and other illegal practices. 

A lonely reporter working way over her pay grade was unfortunate enough to have been unknowingly getting close to uncovering his organization. After mild persuasion, Hannibal killed her, as Ramirez was aware enough of him to know of Hannibal's distance from empathy.

Killing for monetary gain was nothing Hannibal ever fathomed but he didn't mind it, the only complaint being its impersonality, as it's inconvenient to torture the hits when there's a time limit. Soon Hannibal began doing more until he was at his current point.

“Good.”

Hannibal sat, looking up at him. “Whom are you recommending my services to?”

He sits in response, albeit on the edge of his seat. Clearly, he was a busy man. “William Graham.”

Hannibal's brows rose as he allowed himself to lean back in his chair, fathoming the new opportunity. 

Will was well known in Devin and the man's community, he'd busted a few of their kill's after all, dragging the perpetrators down but not bothering to see the bigger picture. For an empath not employed by the FBI, busting a crime ring was well above his pay grade as well. Funnily enough, it would have done him good to work overtime in that case. Either way, Hannibal was not surprised why the boy was his next target but inquired anyway.

“Freddy Lounds writes of him, yes?”

“Twitchy guy that can think like some of us, yeah.”

“If you do not mind me asking, why?”

“Similar reasons as the first girl: working too far in our direction. Gotta be safe. Pretty sure others will be happy to have him dead. You should be when your done: one last person analyzing the disappearances you had a hand in.”

Hannibal's eyes grow alight at the distant threat but fall to the file in his hand. “And that's all I need to know of him?”

“Uh, yeah,” he leans forward and hands Hannibal the file when he meets him halfway, “ his workplace, hours, license plate number, address, pictures, hell, the names of his dogs. Just whatever you need to know to get the job done.”

The psychiatrist thumbs through the pages before landing on a photo of Will that they pulled from Tattlecrime of him standing near a crude murder, most likely poorly done by the hands of one of Ramirez's lackies. Despite the brutality of the man tied to a chair behind Will (throat slit and tongue pulled through it in addition to the bruises littering his long-deceased body), the hesitant profiler kept a distant and oddly innocent look on his face, doe-eyed in the general direction of the photographer. Hannibal couldn't hide his smile as he imagined the soft individual hardening when he realized he was photographed. He came off as that type from what Hannibal read of him.

“Everything alright over there?”

“Yes, I think this will all suffice,” Hannibal closes the file, stands, and holds his hand out to the man, “thank you for your business. You know the normal parameters?”

“A month, right?” He shakes his hand.

“Precisely.” Hannibal makes a move to release his hand from the farewell but frowns faintly when the man doesn't let up. When he looks at him, however, he does, albeit with something in his mind he was grappling with. “Was that all or are you needing something else of me?”

“Sort of.”

“Well, I am all ears.” He really wasn't and inwardly fidgeted in wait for his absence.

“This guy has pissed off a lot of people, you know that. I've known a few, all sitting in prison right now just thinking about this little pest.”

“Yes. Please get to the point, my 6:30 should be coming soon.”

“His suffering is valuable to them.”

Suddenly, Hannibal was curious.

“Can you imagine how much money pictures of this guy under one of your knives would be?”

The man being questioned looks down in thought, genuinely thinking through the offer. “You are asking me to document my activities with him?”

“Yep, let's sayyyy 5% of the proceeds of those photos go to you on top of the commission.”

He acted like he was contemplating the deal but wasn't. Hannibal was already a well off man, and taking a few extra photos and having prolonged time with the victim was far from tedious for him, but the deliberation at least gave some sort of humanity to the cannibal the man unknowingly stood before.

“... I feel like I cannot refuse,” Hannibal chuckled out breathlessly.

The man contently lifted his hand to be shaken.

“That will not be necessary,” he spoke calmly, raising a muting hand, “please have a safe trip back home.”

“Alright, see you, mmm. Let's say a month and a half from now? Seem doable?”

“Seems 'doable’, yes.”

When the man left, Hannibal faintly released the groan he'd been stifling all those minutes and opened the file, contemplating his next move.


	2. Chapter 2

Will had a sudden morning, effectively sleeping past the alarm that indicated when he should wake. Once he did as such, he realized he had only twenty minutes to dress, eat, and get to the university for his earliest class. Silently, he cursed Jack for having him analyze crime scenes the weekend previous and hastily fed his dogs and left his house.

Once he made it to the university, he found he had nearly eleven minutes left until his class officially began and cringed when his stomach rumbled, snapping him out of his daze as he was practically falling asleep where he stood next to his parked minivan.

Realizing his body’s needs, he sighs and makes haste towards the coffee shop that sat beside his building, praying that there was no line and relieved when his prayers were answered. His blue eyes shut out everything around him as they strongly rested on a clock behind the workers head. He was waiting for one person to order and was shook from his focus when the worker asked him what he wanted after the customer left the line.

“Erm,” he clears his throat, looking down, ”a medium coffee please, black, keep it simple.” The faster he got his coffee the better. When he glanced over, his eyes rested on one of the last cheese danishes sitting behind the glass presenting them. “And, uh, a cheese danish, please.” 

He hands the worker the money he already had in hand as the boy read off the cost and sat impatiently at one of the tables near the counter until he was called and given the coffee. 

“You seem to be in a rush so I put a few ice cubes in the coffee so you could drink it on your way to class, Mr. Graham.”

Will’s brows furrow a little as they finally trail up to the boy's face. He must have been one of his students so with that thought in mind, he laughed faintly and pulled out two dollars out of what he was given in change and handed it to the distantly familiar face. “Thank you, keep that.”

The boy opened his mouth to argue, most likely aiming to tell him he couldn’t take tips, but Will didn’t have the time to hear it as he speedily left the shop. Turning around the corner of the door and onto the sidewalk, he took a drink of the coffee, genuinely grateful about its temperature before he was given a rude awakening. 

Suddenly his body slammed into a solid force in front him, effectively causing the slightly cooled coffee to splash on his face and down his white, wool sweater. Stumbling in shock, he fell onto the concrete with a grunt, silently grateful that his danish remained untouched in its bag. He was dazed and desperately grasped for words, aware of how unhappy he was about his coffee but also aware that he was the one that neglected to pay attention to where he was going.

“I am, “ he took a breather, a cadence between each word, “so sorry. So sorry.” He nodded his head no leaning aside to stand but taking the large hand that was offered to him when he did. With the help of the stranger, he stood on slightly shaky legs, thoroughly embarrassed because of the eyes the wipeout attracted.

“Nonsense. You seemed to be running late for something and I got less coffee on me than you did.” 

Will looked up at those words and saw none of the staining liquid on the man's tailored beige suit. Even the white of the revealed undershirt was untouched and that relieved the soiled man standing in front of him, unable to fathom having to deal with the guilt of ruining an easily hundred dollar suit on top of almost being late to his class.

“That is wool, yes?”

“Yeah,” Will weakly laughed, glancing down at the ugly stain spread down from the neck of his sweater. Of course, a good amount splashed his face and hair, but that was easily fixed. He didn’t dwell on the ruined sweater for long though, as he knew his standards were low enough that he’d probably wear it just as frequently as before the current incident.

“I know a dry cleaner near the university, he could probably clean it well. That is if you have an undershirt of course.”

Will’s brows furrow questionably at the concrete under his shoes before upturning at the man when he finally allowed himself to look at the older fellow, questioning his generosity. Hannibal knew it would only be natural. Based on the attention Will received from Freddie Lounds as well as his secluded nature, it would be no surprise if Will was predominantly given negative attention.

“You’re offering to clean a sweater I ruined?”

Hannibal’s head tilted patiently, eyes unwaveringly meeting Will’s blue own. It was almost a challenge, and unsurprisingly, Hannibal won when Will looked away. “Yes? Do you know of Wendy Cleaners?”

“A few blocks away from the university?”

“That is the one. I’ll take it there and you can retrieve it whenever you’re done with whatever you’re trying to get to.”

Will found he wasn’t really interested in his class anymore, but rather the interesting man in front of him. When he looked at him, he could tell he was far from American, features and accent indicating somewhere in northern Europe. 

“Why?”

“You seem like someone who would appreciate the courtesy,” Hannibal laughed out faintly, tone quietly exacerbated but genuinely enjoying their back and forth. Any normal person would be frustrated with Will’s dismissive nature but Hannibal was everything but normal and quietly enjoyed the challenge Will offered him.

“Honestly. I can probably clean it myself. Thank you but this all seems very unnecessary.”

The killer wanted to interrupt when he could predict what the boy's words but personally found that hypocritical when compared to what he was waiting to say, “Dismissing courtesy is rude.”

“A lot of people consider me rude, what’s one more?” he mumbled bitterly before looking up at Hannibal, feeding off of the disappointment the older man purposefully exuded. A silence passed before he released a sigh, pulled the sweater over his head, and handed the bunched material to the persistent man in front of him. Under the sweater lay a plaid shirt, tucked under surprisingly high waisted pants that rested on the boy’s waist, obviously accentuating his well endowed behind.

Hannibal took it with a look of question.

“Thank you… I’m Will… Graham.”

The successful Doctor’s mouth faintly quirked with genuine happiness. “Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” he spoke, pulling out a business card and handing it to the man.

Will scrutinized the card he was offered, “You’re a long ways from Baltimore, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal realized how much he liked hearing the man call him that. “I am close friends with Alana Bloom and Jack Crawford. I was coming to visit.”

“So you’re a psychiatrist. Great.”

“You said that sarcastically.”

“I don’t really have a good track record. Too many of you guys like poking around in my head rather than helping me.”

Hannibal chuckled, feigning ignorance. “You must be a very interesting patient if your doctors are more interested in your thoughts than your well being.”

“Sure, interesting is the word,” Will laughed out with an air of obvious sadness, feeling along the smooth paper before sticking it in his back pocket.

“You have probably only talked to psychiatrists in professional settings.”

Will thought on that and nodded.

“I’d be happy to prove you wrong,” Hannibal smiled faintly.

“... Are you offering to take me to dinner.”

“More or less, I’m offering to make you dinner. Nothing new, I do it with all new acquaintances after all.”

Will shifted in thought, knowing how tight money had been and allowing himself the idea of someone else making him dinner for once. “I’ll think on it.”

“Call me anytime before and we can discuss a good date.”

“That’s only IF I go, Dr. Lecter.”

“Yes, of course: if,” Hannibal smiled faintly, an uncharacteristic warmth in his eyes when the boy’s cold own softened into something grateful. He nodded, flashed him a submissive look, and turned to jog to his class, thinking of the odd encounter he had but how at ease he was despite its abnormality.

Hannibal watched him run long enough for it to not be considered weird and turned to go on his way. Their introduction was accidental but Hannibal was glad it happened.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm amazing at starting stories when I have six other's to finish, aren't I?
> 
> I honestly came up with and wrote this in an hour but thank you all for reading.


End file.
